


You have been waylaid by your love interest and must defend yourself

by shaydh



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: First Time Between These Two, M/M, don't worry Korgan's not involved, siege of dragonspear spoilers, too much internal monologuing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-07-05 13:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaydh/pseuds/shaydh
Summary: Valdir learns that capture and torture don't make for nice dreams, at least not when he's the victim. Dorn has his own agenda but it seems to fix the problem anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in early BG2. Spoilers for the ending of Siege of Dragonspear. If you don't care to read the smut just stop at the asterisks and skip to the end. Also I'm sorry about the stupid title. I am bad at titles.
> 
> All my love to my beta readers ancientwinters and my real life friend for fixing my words and encouraging me while I whine about writing.

A crack of thunder and a sudden downpour of rain announced the party's arrival into the Copper Coronet. It would have all been very dramatic had it not been two hours before Godswake, with the tavern devoid of witnesses save for a few stragglers who were yet unwilling – or unable – to peel themselves away from the bar.

Valdir was grateful. The pounding headache developing somewhere behind his eyeballs was bad enough without the usual carousing, the bawdy songs shouted from the balustrade, the cheers and screams from the fight pit. Sourly, he wondered whether blackmailing Lehtinen into giving the party free room and board had really been worth it. 

"PFAUGH!" Korgan made a sound like a whale blowing water, accompanied by a vigorous shaking which did little to dry him off and a great deal to splatter his beard over his own face and anyone unfortunate enough to be standing next to him. Edwin gave him a halfhearted glare but, soaked as he already was, decided to not make an issue of it. "Not everyday we get t' spill a wyrm's guts! Ye led us to a good fight, drow, I'll give ye that, but stamping all the way back through the mud and the storm's a bit much, aye?"

"Don't complain, dwarf. If your pack feels heavy, just remember it's got a good part of a dragon's hoard inside." Valdir pushed a curtain of sodden hair out of his face and addressed the rest of the party. "Good work today. Get some rest. We've a sewer cult to investigate tomorrow."

"Should've expected the blasted drow t' be a slavedriver," Korgan grumbled as he lurched towards the stairs. "A few winks o' yer fairy sleep may do ye fine but the rest of us be needin' a bit more than that! We killed a dragon this day and ye want us t' be crawlin' sewers the next!"

"We gather at noon," Valdir replied severely. The dwarf acknowledged the order with a rude gesture over his shoulder and a surprising absence of the usual insults about Valdir's hygiene (too clean, of course), heritage, and hypothetical ability to perform in bed, which he supposed only meant that even the dwarf's legendary constitution had worn out. The others followed him with muttered assent: Edwin, still unsuccessfully trying to wring water from his hood, Viconia, looking just as offended as he felt about this whole water-falling-from-the-sky nonsense, and Dorn, who gave him a guarded look as he stomped past. Only once they were out of sight did the drow allow himself to relax.

Truth be told, Valdir was just as tired as the rest of the party. It had been a risky choice to force the march back to Athkatla with his spells running low, but he was reluctant to camp out in the wilderness for a reason, and it was not, as the dwarf had mockingly suggested, that he wanted to sleep on an actual mattress.

The dreams were getting worse. Even admitting the thought to himself made the drow grimace. How laughable to think that he, Valdir Telsaerryn, spawn of a fallen god, slayer of Sarevok, Butcher of the Sword Coast, was afraid of mere dreams!

_No, not afraid_ , he amended. But what few hours of reverie he managed to snatch were far from restful. Irenicus continued to invade his dreams with cryptic monologues and visions that were half fever dream, half memory: needles driven into flesh and knives splitting skin, bubbling tubes of murky liquid in which things that may have once been human writhed and beckoned to him with pale twisted limbs. Something inside his chest and throat and lungs that wanted to devour his very essence until it could burst through the thin shell of his being and slough him off like so much dead skin.

And when the man himself was absent, the dreams were no better. More and more often, Valdir would close his eyes to see the one that had started it all, the one that had turned out to be no dream at all. Skie Silvershield's body lying broken before him, death freezing the look of shock on her face before it could turn to horror. His hands halfway through the red ruin of her chest, the gore collecting under his nails and sticking his fingers to the hilt of a dagger he'd thought shattered and lost. Some nights her face would change, the dark eyes turned to glassy blue, the hair that fanned out beneath her head pink where the blood had not matted it. Her expression turned to something uglier, something accusatory.

It was not the killing that haunted him. Valdir had seen worse,  _done_ worse on more than a few occasions, though his preferred methods were cleaner and more artful, if not necessarily less brutal. Skie's death disturbed him so because  _he_ had not been the one to kill her.  _Something_ had wrested control of his own body away from him, and Irenicus had used that to shatter the power base Valdir had been steadily building in one neat move. Everything that had followed – his arrest, his capture, his torture, the theft of his  _godsdamned soul_ – was a testament to how perfectly Irenicus had played him.

Worse, there was no guarantee it wouldn't happen again. Valdir dreaded seeing Skie's body transform into another companion's, of waking to see Viconia, or Dorn, or any of the others lying dead beneath him with their chest torn open. If it ever happened, if another died by his hand in such circumstances, he'd likely end up killing the rest of the party as well to eliminate evidence of his failure. He doubted anyone would follow him if they knew he could be turned into Irenicus' pawn so easily. The drow huffed out an amused breath at the thought that Korgan, at least, would be delighted for a reason to cut him down.

And so he insisted on returning to the inn whenever possible, where there'd be a wall, a door, a lock between him and the others. It wasn't a tenable situation by any means; he knew they couldn't stay in Athkatla if he wanted to hunt Irenicus down. But until the Shadow Thieves came through with more information, there was little else he could think to do.

Valdir was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly ran into the shadow lurking at the top of the stairs, and then his heart leapt into his throat as an armored hand landed on the wall next to his head. His dagger was halfway out of its sheath before he registered who it was.

"Dorn," he muttered, in a voice that was a lot steadier than his heartbeat. Initial panic gave way to irritation at being accosted so suddenly, before unease set in again. Had the blackguard noticed his weakness of late? Was he about to make a bid for leadership of the party? The look Dorn gave him was dark, his arm was effectively blocking off any escape, and while Valdir had a few spells left that could be used at close range he'd much prefer to not be trapped in a tiny stairwell for this particular fight. "What is it?"

"This has gone on long enough." Dorn's voice was a low growl. "You feel it as strongly as I, do you not? And yet you've been dodging me. I want an answer."

Valdir stared, nonplussed, exhausted brain trying to wrangle meaning from the words. "An answer? To what?"

Dorn snorted. "To this. To us. Did you not express interest in me during the siege? And did I not make my reciprocation clear, before...circumstances...forced us apart?"

"Circumstances such as you leaving me to be hanged?" Valdir discreetly slid his dagger back into its sheath.

The half-orc's eyes narrowed. "Are you  _still_  upset about that?"

"I'm not upset!" Valdir snarled, before tamping down the sudden flare of anger. This was hardly the time or the place for a spat, especially with Dorn still caging him against the wall. "I've been...I've had many things on my mind lately, that's all."

And this was one of them. Their relationship, or lack thereof, was certainly not what he’d expected Dorn to confront him over. True, the blackguard had been expressing interest since he'd rejoined the party, but with so many more pressing matters at hand, Valdir had been reluctant to return the attentions. A month ago he had watched Dorn carelessly walk away through prison bars and cursed him for desertion, tried to ignore the uncomfortable voice inside his head calling him a fool for trusting in the blackguard's loyalty in the first place, and swore to never make that mistake again.

Valdir told himself he'd only allowed Dorn back into the party because he couldn't afford to pass up a skilled warrior. The anger still smoldered deep inside his chest; he nursed a grudge as only a drow could, but more and more his eyes lingered on the blackguard, watching his sword arc a bloody curve through some hapless enemy or admiring the flex of his muscles when he trained, unarmored and stripped to the waist. It wasn't until he caught himself reminiscing about the one kiss they'd shared, Dorn's fingers rough against his jaw and his tongue forcing its way past the drow's lips as a portal to hell swirled before them with promises of battle and bloodshed, that Valdir realized exactly how impaired his judgement had become around the blackguard.

When Viconia, astute as ever, finally got him to admit his misgivings, she had given him a pointed stare and asked what  _trust_  had to do with a good fuck, which, according to her, he was desperately in need of.

He conceded that point, at least. But any relationship with Dorn would be a complication, and the gods knew he didn't need any more complications in his life.

"Hrmm. I do not doubt that." Dorn leaned in closer, and Valdir was once again struck by how much larger the half-orc was, towering over him even when he was considered tall by elf standards. Dorn could break his spine easily, could crush his neck with his bare hands as he had threatened to do the first time they had met. The thought  _really_  should not turn him on as much as it did. "So allow me to distract you from your worries. I will give you pleasure as none have before."

"That's a bold claim, blackguard," the drow murmured, acutely aware of Dorn's gaze on him, the heat emanating from his body, the provocation behind his measured tone. It was getting harder to remember why he was supposed to be wary around the half-orc.

"Do you think me unequal to the challenge?"

Valdir's lip curled with a flash of teeth. His last vestige of reason berated him for his idiocy, and he ignored it. "Show me."

Dorn needed no further invitation, closing the last few inches between their lips in an instant, and whatever stupid misgivings Valdir had burned away like fog in the sudden heat of contact. He could  _feel_  the blackguard growl low in his throat as he tangled his fingers in coarse black hair, still wet with rain, and yanked him closer. Dorn met him with equal fervor, forcing the drow against the wall with the bulk of his armored form, one thigh pressing in between his legs. Perhaps he  _had_  been teasing the blackguard for too long, however unintentionally.

Dorn's hands roamed down his body, fingers curling over his hips hard enough to bruise, but it wasn’t  _enough_. All he could feel was a dull pressure through the layers of leather and cloth and cold metal pressed against the bared skin of his chest. Valdir snarled in frustration. "I need you out of that armor. Now."

The half-orc pulled back, breathing heavy and eyes dark with lust. "Your room or mine?"

"Whichever's closer."

Dorn made a noise of assent and wrapped one arm around his waist, half shoving, half carrying him down the hall, and Valdir retaliated by coiling his arms around the half-orc's neck, pressing his lips to the pulse point before nipping just a little too hard at the skin there. Dorn swore under his breath as he fumbled with the lock to his room before finally working the door open, shoving Valdir inside, and slamming it shut behind them.

 

***

 

During the mandatory combat training all apprentice drow wizards went through, the masters had spent several lectures stressing the importance of keeping armor and gear in the utmost condition. His instructors would have strung him up if they could see him now, ripping at buckles, ties, and clasps, tossing pieces of Dorn's armor to the floor carelessly and maybe just a little resentfully. Valdir couldn’t help but think it had been easier in Ched Nasad where the warriors weren't so heavily armored (and half the armor seemed designed with a quick tryst in mind rather than actual protection anyway).

Between the two of them, they stripped off most of their gear, though with his gauntlets off the blackguard seemed more interested in continuing what he’d started on the stairs, tearing the robe from Valdir’s shoulders and half kneeling to press hasty kisses to his chest. A low moan escaped the drow's throat as he felt lips brush a nipple, and then Dorn took the piercing between his teeth and tugged and Valdir’s knees nearly buckled.

“Dorn,  _stop_.”

He felt the blackguard’s laugh vibrate against his skin, but Dorn obligingly stood, looking far too smug.

“I will admit I’ve been wanting to do that for some time now.”

“Do that  _after_  you get your armor off.” Valdir finally managed to unlace his trousers without distraction and whatever Dorn was about to reply was choked off by a sudden noise of desire. The drow looked up with a badly concealed smirk, guessing that he’d noticed the  _other_  piercings.

The next second Dorn caught him around the waist and threw him down against the thin mattress. He barely had time to scramble up again before the blackguard was between his thighs, one large hand wrapped around him, thumb running over the warm metal of the studs.

“I changed my mind. I’ve thought of something new.”

Valdir’s ear twitched at blackguard’s tone: dark enough to drown in and  _hungry_. He had no doubt he’d enjoy whatever Dorn had planned, but at that moment he didn’t have the patience or the endurance. After three years of abstinence just the feeling of being touched was enough to leave him painfully hard.

“Later.” He pulled the half-orc in, dragging their hips together and letting their lengths brush. “I’m not in the mood for games now.”

Dorn took the hint, took them both in hand before trapping the drow in another kiss, this one brutal and demanding. Valdir half clung to him to stay upright, gave up trying to stifle the moans spilling from his throat. The way Dorn was stroking the both of them was unplanned and artless and  _absolutely perfect_ , and it was almost embarrassing how quickly he was coming undone.

He was thankful he wasn't the only desperate one, judging by the way Dorn bucked against him, muscles quivering, breath coming hard as his rhythm grew faster and less steady. Valdir licked over the half-orc’s lip before biting down hard enough to draw blood, and the noise Dorn made in that deep, lovely voice of his, the sudden break in his iron composure, was all the drow needed. He had just enough presence of mind to murmur something before he spent himself, Dorn's hand working him to completion before he was pressed back down into the mattress.

Dorn came soon after, grinding against the cleft of his thighs and muffling his groan into the sheets. Valdir buried his face against the half-orc’s neck, breathing in the scent of him, the taste of salt and blood. Something about the way Dorn's weight lay on him was steadying; some of the tension that had followed him ever since his capture was finally melting away. They stayed like that, bodies flush together, as sweat cooled and breathing returned to normal.

Valdir was the first to break the silence. "Less ceremonious than I expected, after you offered to 'show me pleasure as none have before'," he said, though his voice was teasing.

Dorn grunted, rolling to the side to give him a look that would have been disgruntled, if not for the contentment radiating off him and the quirk of his lip. "That was your fault, getting me carried away. I'm not through with you."

Valdir couldn’t help but laugh at Dorn’s audacity, his utter refusal to back down. In one quick move he rolled over and straddled the blackguard, pinning him in place with a predator’s grin. The way Dorn's eyes widened was extremely gratifying.

" _Asanque_ , Dorn. I'm nowhere  _near_ satisfied just yet."

 

***

 

Some time later, Valdir lay against the sleeping blackguard, floating in the wakeful meditation of reverie. He could feel Dorn’s heartbeat against his skin through every point of contact, constant and grounding, keeping his mind from slipping back into the dungeons, to Dragonspear Castle.

That night, for the first time in a long time, his rest was unbroken by dreams.                                                                              


	2. Chapter 2

In the aftermath, Dorn was content to lay, one hand idly running down Valdir's spine as he watched the drow work the tangles from his hair. Valdir's skin felt almost feverish beneath his palm, but he'd discovered that the drow was always unnaturally warm to the touch, as if his magic was constantly burning inside him, waiting to be unleashed. Dorn had wondered once whether it was due to his sorcerous power or his divine blood, and came to the conclusion that it didn't matter. Power was power, after all.

 Valdir made a pleased sound in his throat as the half-orc's fingers traced over his hip, and Dorn tightened his grasp, pulled him closer. The drow looked more relaxed than he had in weeks. The rest of the party hadn't sensed it, save perhaps for Viconia, but Dorn had been keeping a close eye on their leader for more reasons than one, and his behavior of late had been...odd. Different from what he remembered of their journeys together on the Sword Coast. Gestures that were just a bit too jittery, commands that carried an edge of manic energy. Dorn had pieced together the story of the drow's capture at the hands of Irenicus from the little he'd been told, but dispassionate as Valdir had been about describing the torture, it clearly only scratched the surface of what Irenicus had done to him.

But the sorcerer was ambitious, cunning, and, above all, determined. From the start, Dorn had considered him a useful ally, a means to carry out his revenge. By the time of Sarevok's defeat, the blackguard had come to see him as a force of destruction: bright as a wildfire, but possessed of a calculated intent that made him twice as dangerous. Valdir was a man worth following, this he knew. And now...

Now he'd found his way into bed with him. Dorn was not particularly surprised, but he  _was_  relieved, and, truth be told, a little thankful. After the last few months, it was inevitable that their relationship would resolve in one of two ways, and the other involved at least one of them dying.

High risk, high reward. As far as he could tell, it was just how Valdir worked. He couldn't say he minded at all.

Dorn let his gaze follow his hands as they wandered, admiring the way the light gleamed off of dark skin, highlighting every curve, glinting gold off the jewelry. It might have been the dim glow of the lantern or the way his hair hung loose around his face, but for a moment, Valdir appeared surprisingly young. The blackguard was so used to the seeing the drow's severe features set in hard scowls and cruel grins that it was almost a shock, as if he were looking at a complete stranger.

But there was something appealing about seeing him like this too, Dorn decided. A side of Valdir that only he could see, that only he knew. Unguarded, open.

Vulnerable.

He suddenly wondered what the drow would look like broken, what it would even take to reach that point. Had Irenicus come close? A surge of anger rose in his throat as images came unbidden to his mind: the mage's hands on Valdir, pinning him down. Knives sinking into flesh, cutting lines through smooth dark skin. Had he heard him scream? Had he made him beg?

That someone could have laid a hand on  _his_  drow... such a thing could not stand.

"Dorn?"

Somehow, Valdir could make his name sound like both a question and a command at once. Under that black-eyed stare, alert and guarded once more, Dorn realized his fingers were digging into the muscles of the drow's thigh hard enough to bruise. He forced himself to relax, wondering at the sudden rage. Whether it had been borne of concern or jealousy, he could not say.

"It's nothing."

Valdir didn't press the issue, seemingly more interested in curling closer and leaning over the half-orc. A curtain of white hair fell over him, brushing against his chest, his face, and Dorn was awash with a wave of scent. At some point, when they'd amassed enough gold to warrant the luxury, the drow had obtained some kind of perfume, something spicy and heady, but it couldn't mask the ever-present smell of smoke clinging to him. Dorn didn't mind, even preferred it that way. Valdir liked to play the refined noble, and he did it well enough, but to Dorn's mind, he was at his best on the battlefield.

Although a strong case could be made for present circumstances as well.

Valdir's eyes raked over the expanse of his body, slender fingers tracing a path down through the hair on his chest. Dorn could feel the sorcerer mapping out the contours of muscle by touch, marking out where the pale skin was marred by both old scars and new bruises from their latest battle. It wasn't sensual enough to be a caress, felt more as if the drow was studying him, but the blackguard enjoyed the attention all the same. There was desire and naked admiration in Valdir's gaze, and Dorn couldn't help but preen a little.

"Am I so interesting to you?"

"Of course. I've never been with an...a non-drow before."

Dorn snorted, hearing the word that was meant to follow the pause clearly, though he was not actually offended. "Impressive. You refrained from referring to me as iblith."

Valdir grinned at him, pointy and unsettling as ever. "You were never iblith to me."

"Never?"

"I watched you split a man in two from his skull to his breastbone the first time we met. How could such strength be worthless?"

Dorn grunted, pleased.

The drow shrugged, meeting his gaze with a veiled look. "In any case, to refer to someone I just fucked as such... well, that would be quite...  _offal_."

It took a few seconds before the drow's words registered in his ears, and another few seconds of studying his expression, steady but for the slightest curl of his lip, for the half-orc to realize that the pun was intentional. And then Dorn grabbed the pillow and smashed it right in Valdir's face, ignoring the drow's spluttered protests and the muffled cry of "Betrayer!"

" _Never_ do that again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Yes that ending was planned from the very beginning  
> 2\. That was the most effort I've ever put into making a bad pun ever and I hope you all enjoyed it


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